


Playing Stud

by masonverger_rising



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Blood and Gore, Castration, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:19:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masonverger_rising/pseuds/masonverger_rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mason Verger decides to get some revenge for Will Graham's indiscretions.</p><p>(shameless torture porn, read at your own risk)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bull Ring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MagpieMind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieMind/gifts).



"Wake up Mr. Graham," Mason pushes his gloved hand through sweat-soaked curls, slides his palm down over his cheek and pries one eyelid open, " _there_  you are, hello — how are you feeling? Good I hope? The sedative was  _very_  mild. Are you thirsty? Here,” he holds a bottle of water up to Will’s lips, “drink it all, Mr. Graham, it’ll make you feel better,” _for a while, anyway_.

"Wha—? Where am I? What the hell — what is this?"

Mason watches him struggling feebly, still hardly able to keep his eyes open — that won’t do at all, he wants Will to be  _aware_  of every second of this, he has it all planned out so perfectly. He hefts the cattle prod in his other hand, testing the familiar weight of it for a moment before pressing the nodes against the meat of Will’s thigh.

_That_  gets his attention, Will Graham bares his teeth in a snarl, lets out a choked yelp of shock and pain. He struggles for real now, muscles and tendons whip-tight, the steel frame rattles as he thrashes against the restraints. Mason covers his mouth with the back of his hand to smother a laugh.

“So now that you’re awake—”

"Mason, whatever you’re doing you’re not going to get away with it; if you kill me Hannibal Lecter is going to know that it was you — maybe you can outsmart the FBI, but you’re never gonna—"

“ _Kill you_?” Mason shakes his head and tuts, “oh no, Will, no, no. We’re going to play a little game — you like games, don’t you? Well  _maybe_  you prefer playing them with Margot — don’t worry! She’s not missing out at  _all_ ,” he points to a camera suspended from a ceiling beam, the black eye of it’s lens trained directly on Will Graham’s naked body where it hangs in the metal frame, “live feed — she’s watching  _avidly_ , I’m sure,” he turns back to give the camera a jaunty wave.

"Fuck," Will tries to yank a hand free, but the restraints don’t give so much as an inch.

"Yes you  _did_ ,” Mason says quietly, “did you enjoy playing  _stud_  for my sister?” he lifts the cattle prod again, taps the shaft against his palm as he speaks, the plastic-on-leather makes a distinct sound.

"If you’re doing this to hurt her then  _forget it_  — she doesn’t care about me; she  _used_  me, that’s  _all_ ,” flecks of spittle fly from Will’s lips, he twists, tries to pull his head back through the bars on either side of his neck — he can  _almost_  squeeze through …

"Mhmm," Mason steps forward and reaches out, Will flinches away but Mason doesn’t try to touch him this time, just moves a pin at one end of one of the bars and tightens the crush around Will’s throat, "and yet you  _jump_  to defend her,” he tuts, “if you struggle you’ll only hurt yourself. This has all been built  _especially_  for you, I’m afraid you won’t be slipping away until I let you out.”

"So what is the  _game_ ,” Will grits out.

"Simple," Mason smiles broadly, and steps back to a work bench — from the angle that Will is held at he can’t see much beyond a few glimmers of silver resting on the surface. Mason picks up an item and holds his hand behind his back, "since you liked playing stud so much I thought you might like to look the part."

Mason holds up a heavy steel ring between two fingers, it shines under the bright lights, “Sterile, I promise you,” Mason grins.

"What the—" Will breaks off as Mason walks toward him, and despite himself, despite knowing it will only fuel Mason’s sick glee, he can’t help but struggle to get away.

"Shh-sh, now Will," Mason reaches out to grasp him by the hair again, "the more you struggle the worse it will be, calm down now," it’s obvious from his voice that he’s trying hard not to giggle.

Somehow that’s even worse than if he’d laughed out loud and Will forces himself to stay still.

“ _Good_ ,” Mason says, “are you going to keep your eyes open? Do you think you can?” He holds the ring up right in front of Will’s face, “Ready now, on the count of three —  _one_ —” he snaps the ring closed and twists the screw.

“ _Fuck!_ " a bead of blood wells and then runs down Will’s top lip. The ring is too big for him by rights, made for a bull’s nose, not a man’s, and the metal hangs against his lip, pain throbs through his face, his eyes stream.

"Not  _so_  bad now, was it?” Mason’s face is six inches from Will’s and he watches the tears run down his cheeks — not the real deal, just an automatic reaction to that kind of injury. But still, tears are tears. He takes the case of sterile swatches out of his pocket and soaks up a few drops, “I’ll make Margot a drink later,” he turns back toward the camera, holding the swatch up, “what do you think, Little Sister? Thirsty?” he stows it carefully away again.

Before Will can recover, before he can grit out something in Margot’s defence or spit profanities at Mason, Mason reaches down and wraps his hand around Will’s soft cock.

Will grits his teeth, he can feel sweat running down his sides, his back, crawling across his scalp, “So  _what_ , n-now you wan’t me to  _stud_  for you too? Is  _that_  what this is?  _Jealousy_?” he tries to sound disdainful, but he’s shaking, his voice catches in his throat and quavers just a little too much to be convincing.

Mason laughs, “Oh  _boy_ , I didn’t finish explaining the game, now did I? I just got ahead of myself,” he grins, his face is close enough to Will’s that he can feel his breath, can see the tiny capillaries in the whites of his eyes, Mason strokes Will’s cock with slow, gentle movements.

Will twitches, he can feel himself getting hard, the friction of the leather glove, the surge of adrenaline and endorphins in his system make it impossible to resist that, and it feels like a betrayal. In his mind he takes a step back, he can hear the rush of the stream. His eyes glaze and he blinks slowly.

Mason slaps him hard across the face while his other hand twists over the head of Will’s cock — the slap catches on the bullring and a fresh wave of pain floods through him, even as his hips jerk up to meet Mason’s hand.

“ _Explain_ ,” Will wheezes.

"You don’t get to play stud again," with one final pull Mason lets go of Will’s cock and takes a step back, "this time you’re playing  _steer_ ,” he grins.

"What’s the ..?" Will watches Mason return to the work bench, watches him pick something up, hears the clack of metal on metal as he fiddles with it, " _hey_ , what’s that supposed to mean?  _Steer?_ ”

“ _Tsk_  come on now, Will, don’t you know your animals?” Mason has his hand behind his back again, “ _this_  is what makes a steer a steer,” he holds up a tiny ring of rubber for Will to see.

"I don’t, I … wait, no — _no!_ " Will thrashes against the restraints.

Mason drops the ring and picks up the cattle prod again, “Come on Will, be a grown-up about this, won’t you?” he aims carefully and lands the nodes of the prod on the soft, sweat-slick flesh of Will’s belly, just above the jut of his erection.

Will doesn’t make a sound, his body taught, trembling and straining.

Mason bares his teeth and tosses the cattle prod aside, then takes his other hand out from behind his back, “I’m not sure you would have seen one of these before, but I’m  _sure_  you know what it’s for,” the little device gleams brightly, the green rubber ring stretched over the mechanism, “now you’ll want to hold  _very_  still again, or things could be  _nasty_  for you.”

Will would laugh, if he had the energy for it, “As though they aren’t nasty as it is?”

"Nastier," Mason amends as he leans down to fit the device over Will’s scrotum, "now you  _may_  feel a pinch,” he flicks the catch and Will  _screams_.

It takes a  _long_  while for Will to settle, for his screams to subside into wracking sobs and then pathetic whimpering. Mason circles the steel frame, observing him from every angle, shooting knowing glances back toward the camera every so often.

He stops behind Will, strokes over his hair again and ignores the angry hiss, uses his teeth to pull off his other glove and unzips his trousers, spits into his palm and strokes himself a few times before he reaches for Will’s hip.

"Now," Mason says, barely loud enough for the camera’s microphone to pick up, his lips almost touching the shell of Will’s ear, "now it’s  _my_  turn to play stud.”


	2. Intermission

Will Graham is hanging lax in the metal frame, his breathing is ragged and he is slick with sweat, snot and blood are running down to his chin. Mason slides his hand over his belly, feeling the quivering of his muscles, the prickling of his skin and the scatter of small hairs.

He pulls out slowly, takes half a step back to tuck himself into his trousers, he shushes Will when he whimpers, pushes his hand through sweat-soaked hair and ignores the strained hitching of the man’s breath.

Mason presses close behind Will again, slides his hand over one nipple, then down the length of his torso —  _"No, no no, don’t touch_ —” Will bites his own tongue as Mason’s hand circles his flaccid cock, makes a high-pitched keening whine. Mason smiles at the camera.

"Oh you poor thing," Mason’s voice is dripping with faux concern, "don’t worry your little head about it," he yanks Will’s head to the side and presses a rough kiss against his cheek, "I have just the place for you to rest up."

"What d’you—" Will has trouble forming words, his voice slurred, his head lolling, "you  _can’t keep me here_ , jus’” he sobs, “jus’ lemme go,  _please jus’ lemme go_.”

"But I don’t  _want_  to let you go,” Mason smirks, “And I have  _just_  the place to keep you.”


	3. Insects

In the close, dark space Will’s heartbeat sounds like the ocean crashing onto rocks, his breathing is the rhythmic susurration of the wind over the crests, knocking the foam from the peaks to fleck the air. He is half in the water, his body moves with it, helpless against the sheer  _power_  of the waves, but safe so long as he keeps afloat, keeps his head above the foam.

He is so intent on this construction of precarious safety, so focused on keeping his head above the waves, on treading water that his leg twitches and he’s brought back to the reality of his body by the pain that tears through his gut, shoots up his spine and down his legs. He’s lucky, his muscles so fatigued that he can hardly flinch, doesn’t manage to hit his head on the lid of the chest.

Not this time.

Will groans and it sounds like a sob, echoes within the tiny space so that his whole head seems filled with his own voice. He has lost track of time, he knows in the very vaguest sense where he is — he had been on Muskrat Farm when Mason had … when he had been imprisoned, and he hadn’t been moved far after they’d closed him in this …

He resists the word coffin, though he can’t think of a word that fits better.

Suffocation feels as though it is only moments away and he can’t tell how long he has been here, how long he has been struggling for air in this cramped space, escaping into the water in his mind, into the rolling sea.

Pain is constant, the insistent, ever-present ache from between his legs, the knowledge that he has been — is  _in the process of being_  damaged beyond repair is almost worse than the physical agony. His hands have been left unbound, another kind of torture, that even with his hands free there is nothing he can do now but hurt himself further, destroy himself even more quickly.

With careful concentration Will slows his breathing, convincing himself that there is enough air in the small space, the water is alluring but it is dangerous too, too much of a distraction from his situation, from the physical danger that he can only avoid by being present and aware. He has to stay standing, keep his legs as far apart as he can so that he doesn’t make things worse by accident.

All he can hope is that someone realises he is missing, that someone finds him before it’s too late.

He sinks into a state that is almost meditative, counting his breaths, trying to stay still and calm. Something tickles his foot and his mind throws out the image of his dogs, hungry and milling around his legs, licking his toes, their questing tongues slurping up against his ankles, his shins.

But Will’s dogs are far away, safe in his little house and he hopes being fed by the neighbours.

He wriggles his toes and feels something delicate, slightly prickly that  _moves_ , skittering away from him as he shifts, and his stomach lurches. He can tell by feel that it is a cockroach, fat and looking for something to eat. He knows that cockroaches usually eat dead things but that if you are still, if you are unconscious and don’t move when they start to nibble, that they will eat living flesh.

Now he is entirely present, another featherlight brush against his heel and he shifts carefully so that he doesn’t jolt himself — he wouldn’t put it past Mason Verger to have acquired some specialised roaches specifically bred to eat flesh — moving his feet slowly to discourage the insects from biting. He actually  _hears_  one scrabbling against the wooden box to get away from him.

Slowly he raises his hands, presses them against the front of the box, pushing his shoulders back into the wood behind him to help balance, exhaustion sits in his bones, deep deep pain-wearyness and it would be so easy to let himself sink to the bottom of the box, there is  _just_  enough space for him to do that but now he knows that that is just another trap — the slight relief it would bring would make him vulnerable in his most vulnerable places to the things he can feel swarming now around his feet, skittering up over his ankles.

Will’s breathing sounds harsh and loud in the closed space, he sobs, he feels a tear slide down to the end of his nose and then drop to the floor. He flinches at the first probing nibble, lifts his foot and brings it down to crush some of them and feels them squirm and splatter under his bare feet.

For a moment he forgets himself, stomps on the crawling insects, teeth clenched, still bracing against the box, he can feel wings and crisp carapaces sticking between his toes and his desperation makes him forget even the gut-deep pain from the movement.

He feels something odd and then a soft tap against his knee and Will is suddenly certain that he is going to pass out. He freezes, hands creeping down over his belly, down between his legs and this time the rubber band falls away when his fingertips brush over it, the nub of raw flesh where his testicles used to be attached pangs with his careful probing but he can’t stop feeling how wrong it is, the absence there.

With the insects still crawling around his feet he desperately wants to find his balls, pick them up so that they won’t get eaten but his legs are shaking so badly that he can’t crouch down. It takes a long while until Will realises he is screaming, and by then he finds he can’t stop.

It must be hours later when the box is opened, Will can barely lift his head to see Mason’s smug, grinning face. He is slick with sweat and his throat is raw and he’s battered his hands and feet bloody against the sides of the box.

"Now you look just about tuckered out,  _Will_ ,” he leans in and chucks Will under the chin with one gloved hand, ducking to peer up at his face and he laughs as Will attempts to sway away from him, “they came off pretty clean, doncha think?”

Will makes a choking sound, tries to hold back a fresh wave of tears, the light makes his eyes smart and the sea is rising up inside him, he feels like he is drowning.

"But you know we’ve gotta be careful — infection is a  _terrible_  thing, we don’t want to take  _chances_  now, do we Margot?”

Bile rises in Will’s throat as Mason tugs his twin sister close against his side, bares his teeth at the sight of them, at the sight of the silent tears streaking down her cheeks, at the tube of ointment clutched in her trembling hands.

"Don’t worry, Will," Mason says, shoving Margot forward, "she has a  _very_  light touch — I’m sure you won’t feel a thing.”

As she dabs the ointment onto Will’s broken flesh Mason ducks down, scoops up the soft lump of Will’s testicles from the floor of the box and holds them out in the palm of his hand. Margot almost loses her balance and has to steady herself against the side of Will’s prison, the colour leaves her cheeks.

Will almost passes out again, the world fading to a rushing in his ears, heat and cold dashing through him in quick succession, Margot’s hand is pressed against his thigh, and he wants to slap it away, his skin is crawling.

"Oh I have a couple of ideas of what I’ll do with  _these_ ,” Mason wraps Will’s testicles in a neat square of cloth and tucks them into his pocket, his grin returns, all sharp teeth and he reaches out to stroke Margot’s hair, “but then maybe dear  _Margot_  has some ideas of her own — she did seem  _very_  keen on them, after all.”


	4. Family Dinner

Will slips in and out of consciousness. He has flashes of strong hands carrying him, of someone – or several someones cleaning him, water and sweet smelling soap and a washcloth moving over him with brisk efficiency. He’s dried and laid out and someone dresses him, moving him from side to side as though he’s no more than a doll, as weightless as a child.

He tries to protest, of course. He kicks out when they clean between his toes, he tries to scratch them and finds only air under his fingernails. He wants to be stiff and unyielding but they overpower him, his body is weak and he can’t keep his eyes open for long enough to form any sort of plan.

When he comes to properly it’s with a jerk, the stink of ammonia in his nostrils. Will opens his eyes and sees everything at once – the opulent dining room, the immaculate table setting. Margot across from him, dressed in a vision of shimmering gold, her makeup running with tears. He struggles for a moment, heart racing, but finds that he’s restrained, his arms and legs fixed in place to a chair or trolley of some kind.

He looks at Margot with wide, rolling eyes. He can sense someone standing just behind him and he knows with a fear that makes his gut knot that there’s no way he can get out of his restraints.

The doors swing open and Mason strides in, looking very smug.

“I’m so glad the both of you could make it – isn’t this nice? A  _family_  dinner. It’s about time we all sat down and caught up on everything, isn’t it?” Mason takes the seat at the head of the table, Margot to his right and Will to his left. “And how are you feeling, Will? You look a little pale.” Mason grins and leans forward. “I’m sure you’ll feel better after you’ve eaten.”

At his words the doors swing open again and three or four servants enter the room carrying platters and plates. They lay the meals out on the table and file out without so much as a word. In front of Will and Margot there are arrangements of garnishes and a rich sauce around a fan of sliced organ meat. Mason’s plate has only the garnishes and sauce.

Will feels his stomach roll as he looks around the table. He knows  _exactly_  where the meat has come from, and the absence of any on Mason’s plate makes him sweat. He struggles against his bonds, though he knows that it won’t help, and dull pain spikes between his legs, the bullring bumps against his top lip and stings also, tears well in his eyes and make the candelabra filling the edges of the room sway and blur.

“Oh now, Will, don’t you go passing out again, you’ll spoil this lovely dinner.” Mason leans on his elbows on the table and grins. “Go on, eat before it gets cold.” There’s an edge to his voice which sounds dangerous. 

Will’s arms are just free enough that he can reach the cutlery, and he can bend his head to bring the fork to his mouth. He tears his eyes away from the blurry lights and stares at his plate. At the lump of  _himself_  on the fine porcelain. Will feels his gorge rising as he moves the fork tines to press against the thin membrane of the testicle. It has a spongy consistency and he wants to run away. The restraints feel tight and sore around his chest and legs.

Margot’s hands are shaking. She and Will lock eyes across the table. She can feel her heart thrumming in her chest and she feels like she’s about to puke. Isn’t it enough that Mason has taken her unborn child from her? Now this? It doesn’t matter what she does, or how much she tries to appease him, there will always be some new horror for him to present to her, some new way for him to express his complete ownership of her life.

“Go on,  _take a bite_.” Mason’s voice is sharper, he’s getting frustrated that they haven’t done what they’re told.

Seeing how shaken Margot is, Will takes the plunge first. He cuts off a tiny sliver and shoves it into his mouth. He makes the mistake of trying to chew it and almost gags, his mouth is dry and he tastes acid in the back of his throat. He swallows and he can feel the chunk all the way down his gullet.

“Oh. What a pity.” Mason’s fist thumps into the table and he pushes himself to his feet. “Oh silly me, I’ve just realised there’s not enough to go around – look at that, there’s nothing on  _my_ plate.”

Margot’s hand jerks as she pushes her plate towards him. “Have mine, Mason, I’m not hungry.”

He doesn’t take it, and he doesn’t get mad, there’s just that same gleeful shine in his eyes that says the worst is yet to come. “Oh no, little sister, you have that, that’s yours. You need to get your strength back after your surgery, you know.”

As Mason begins to move around the table toward Will the nurse standing off to the side starts forward with a trolley of shiny implements, a few bottles and boxes holding all manner of goodies set neatly along the side of the tray. Margot stifles a groaning cry of distress and Will goes limp, his breath is shallow and he feels dizzy.

“After all, there’s no need to share when there’s more where that came from.” Mason lifts a long kitchen knife from the trolley while the nurse opens Will’s trousers and eases his cock out, holding it out to it’s full, impressive length. “And look, he’s got  _plenty_  to spare – he won’t even  _miss_  it, will you?”

Will’s teeth are gritted and his breathing quickens, he bucks against the restraints until he’s red in the face and snorting like a bull, but Mason doesn’t let go or back away. He doesn’t put the knife down.

When Will has exhausted himself Mason raises the blade and sets the cold edge against Will’s sensitive skin. “I just wanna  _thank_  you.” Mason’s eyes are bright behind his glasses, his teeth gleam, his smile is grotesque. “For _providing_  for us all.”

The knife glides through flesh, there’s an almighty, enveloping pain, and then Will is out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know i suspect this thing is developing the rudiments of plot


End file.
